Notes Of A Love Song
by Kari Kurofai
Summary: In a metaphorical way, the river in his dreams was a symbol of his life, Arthur knew that. Then why did it always feel as though he was drowning? AU Francis/Arthur France/England.
1. Chapter 1

**Notes Of A Love Song: The First Step**

*Angel, you have successfully and evilly converted me with your evilness. Thy name be false, girl. So this one's for you and Lucky both. (though I think Lucky will scowl at my lack of USUK anywhere . . . Lol.)*

_Arthur never remembered the dreams when he woke up. It was like a memory he'd lost, faded and distant, quick to vanish from his mind the moment consciousness was regained. He'd reached for it, over the years barely grasping the edges of the dream, pulling away small shards of it every time it flitted through his mind's eye in the night. But even so, it continued to evade him when he woke, save for the scattered pieces he'd forced himself to catch._

_There was a river, wide, deep, and dark, though it's surface glistened with sunlight. But more than the depth, it was the distance to the other side that worried him. He could see the opposite shore, and he knew he had to reach it. But the water was in the way. And somewhere deep down, he knew he'd drown if he tried to cross it. So he never tried. Arthur wasn't the kind to take unnecessary risks, and he wasn't about to start taking them, even in dreams._

_But maybe that was because it never truly seemed like a dream. The sound of the river and the warmth of the sunlight, they were almost too real. Like the river was a part of his actual life, something he had to overcome in reality before he could in his subconscious. Or he'd drown._

_And Arthur was afraid. He was afraid of the water in reality, and of the river in his dreams. He couldn't cross it. It was too wide, too deep, too dark. And there was never anyone in his dreams to save him from drowning if he tried._

The blond wiped the sweat from his forehead, brushing his bangs aside as he kept his other hand on his guitar. He picked at the strings lazily for a moment, closing his eyes and listening to the notes as he played them. Biting his lip slightly, he played the pattern louder, blinking in satisfaction and turning his gaze to the person sitting at the keyboard off to his right. "Roderich, can you play it like that?" he repeated the tune, watching the Austrian carefully.

Roderich nodded, copying the music on the electric piano exactly without missing a beat. He tilted his head to the side, pushing his glasses up from the edge of his nose, "Should I write that in on measure ninety-three?"

Arthur smiled slightly, "Yeah, it flows better if we add that in." He glanced over his shoulder towards the drums, "Will that still work with the lyrics, Feli?"

A man with light auburn hair jumped up, dashing across the small stage to hover over Roderich's shoulder and peer down at the sheet music. He muttered the words under his breath, clicking his tongue and counting the beats in the new addition to the song. "I don't know, can I make a few changes tonight and get back to you tomorrow?" Feliciano asked, smiling brightly.

"That's such a pain, Feli," muttered another man, who looked remarkably similar to the first Italian. He tapped his fingers against his bass guitar in irritation, "Let's just get it down now."

"But . . ." Feliciano said, brown eyes starting to tear up, "But I'm hungry Lovi!" He balled his hands into fists, waving them about in a miniature fit, "I want pasta! We've been practicing all day and I'm _starving_!"

Lovino put his hands over his ears, trying to ignore the noise of his brother's obnoxiously loud sobs with an exasperated sigh. He cast a sharp, desperate look at the other guitarist next to Arthur.

The final band member merely grinned, wiping some sweat off of his tanned face. When Lovino continued to shoot him demanding, and rather nasty glares as Feliciano wailed, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, flicking it open and dialing.

Arthur had ignored a good portion of this whole event, sitting down on the edge of the small wooden stage and plucking tiredly at his guitar again. He only looked up when he heard the other guitarist, Antonio, exclaim, "Heya Ludwig!" louder than necessary into his cell phone.

In less than a millisecond, Feliciano had stopped crying and had launched himself across the stage to snatch the phone from his cousin. "Ludwig!" he squealed in delight into the receiver, "Let's go get dinner, okay?" He started jumping up and down as he talked; ignoring the exasperated way Lovino rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath. "Yes, all of us," he laughed, "The rest of the band's hungry too." Smiling, he turned towards Arthur, "Is that okay?"

The blond returned the smile, "Is that wurst-guy treating?"

Feliciano thought a moment, counting on his fingers silently, "Err . . . Sure?"

Arthur waved a hand with a light laugh, "I'm joking, Feli. I'll pay for myself, and I'm sure everyone else will too," he turned a glare towards the rest of the band. Roderich stared back at him with a look that clearly said that it was demeaning to be treated to a meal, and Lovino simply shrugged.

Antonio however smirked and pointed at himself, "What? You can still buy _me _dinner, Feliciano."

Lovino whacked him over the head with the bottom of his base guitar, looking at his brother out of the corner of his eye, "I'll pay for this miserable broke drunkard. Are we going to the usual place then?"

"Can we?" the younger Italian asked, eyes shining. He didn't wait for an answer, turning back to the phone, "The usual place in five minutes, okay Ludwig?"  
There was a startled, "But that's impossib-" from the other side of the line, before Feliciano hung up, pretending he hadn't heard.

It was more like ten minutes later when the five of them came bustling into the restaurant, having to forcibly pull the door closed behind them to shut out the icy November wind. Arthur shivered, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck as he shifted the guitar slung over his back. "Bloody London winter," he mumbled under his breath.

Lovino shook some snow from his coat sleeves, scowling as Antonio brushed flakes from his dark brown hair, "Oh can it, Arthur. You were born here, whereas I grew up in the Mediterranean, where it's considerably fucking warmer. None of this rain and shit year round." He twisted away from Antonio, catching the older man's hands in his own before his hair could be ruffled again, "Will you _stop_ that?"

Antonio grinned, looping his arms around the other's neck and leaning heavily against his back, making Lovino almost fall over. The younger man started to burst into a string of profanity as Feliciano skipped past him towards a table where a tall man with slicked blond hair was waiting.

"Late," Ludwig stated as Feliciano and Roderich slid into the booth beside him, Arthur and Lovino, Antonio still leeched on to the later, taking the other side, "You said five minutes, so I was here in five minutes."

"We had to pack up," Feliciano stated simply, grinning from ear to ear. He turned his gaze down towards the blonde's lap, continuing to smile broadly as he caught sight of the small child sitting there. The baby, barely a year old, was slapping his hands on the table, dark bangs falling over his brown eyes as he reached for the salt shaker, only to have it have it taken out of his reach by Ludwig. Feliciano laughed quietly when the child began to sniffle, scooping the baby up into his arms instead. "Daddy's so mean, isn't he Kiku," he cooed.

Ludwig frowned, "He would have just made a mess if I let him have the thing. Besides," he muttered, pointing at the baby, "Why am _I_ the one that's always left at home to take care of him. _You're_ the one that brought him home without asking me, as I recall. And now that I think about it, when did I say you could move in with me? Don't you live with Lovino? Go home already!"

Lovino didn't comment, choosing to remain out of this discussion since he rather liked having the apartment all to himself. It had been months since Feliciano had slept there at all. It made the place a whole lot quieter. At least until Antonio decided he'd take up the free space for no damn reason. Which was annoying, but less so than his brother.

Feliciano bounced the baby on his knee, smiling as Kiku laughed, "What's wrong with me living at your place Ludwig?" He turned false teary eyes towards the blond, not that the German man could tell the difference between that and real tears. "Am I really that much of a bother?" Feliciano sobbed, still completely fake, "Do you hate me?"

"Err . . ." Ludwig blinked, beginning to look flustered, "I, uh . . . No, I-I don't hate you."

"Yay!" Feliciano exclaimed loudly, causing half the restaurant to stare in their direction, "So it's okay if I live with you, right?"

"Fine," Ludwig muttered.

The Italian grinned, "Good. Now, say that you love me."

Ludwig blushed furiously, "Wha- hell no! Leave me alone!"

"Say it," Feliciano said, sticking out his lower lip and beginning to cast puppy eyes at the blond. But the look quickly faded as a heavy tray smacked lightly against his head.

The waitress holding said tray had an annoyed look on her face as she leaned against it, the item still on top of Feliciano's head. With a hand, she swept back some of her long brown hair behind her ear, glaring at the people seated in the booth. "How many times have I told all of you not to bug me at work?" she demanded, green eyes resting on Roderich in particular.

"But you have good pasta here," Feliciano piped up from beneath the tray, his reply causing the woman to press the tray down onto his head even harder.

"And you," she said, narrowing her eyes at Ludwig and the Italian in turn, "Save that sort of talk for the bedroom. You're freaking out the other customers. You especially, Feli. You're too loud." Her scathing gaze returned demandingly to Roderich, "Take. Them. To. A. Different. Restaurant. You. Twat." Each word was darkly emphasized.

Roderich raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, looking very much like he planned to stay exactly where he was. Arthur, however, put his hands up defensively, "Now, now, Elizaveta, what if I give you an extra big tip?"

She blinked at the blond, a thoughtful look crossing her face, "Thirty percent?"

Arthur frowned slightly, knowing that she meant thirty percent of the entire tab, not just his own meal. And with the way Feliciano ate . . . "Yeah, sure," he agreed in defeat, "Thirty percent."

Elizaveta smiled sweetly at him, turning to skip off at the thought of such a large tip, "I'll bring you your menus then," she called over her shoulder.

The Englishman turned towards Roderich across the table with a scowl, "You're halving it with me," he said threateningly.

Feliciano was rubbing at his head sadly, asking Ludwig if where Elizaveta had hit him would swell, and insisting that the blond take a look, when his phone went off in his pocket. He pulled it out, returning Kiku to Ludwig's lap as he answered it. He was silent a moment as the operator connected the lines, wondering who was calling that didn't know his phone number. Then, he caused the whole table to jump, (and half the restaurant), as he screamed, "Big brother!" excitedly into the receiver.

One of Arthur's characteristic eyebrows twitched as the youngest band member lapsed into speaking very quickly in a different language. He glanced at Antonio, "Is he speaking French?"

Antonio had untangled himself from Lovino and was leaning forward on the table looking excited, "Oh, yeah, he is," he said absently, more absorbed in what his cousin was jabbering into the phone. "It must be Francis, I dropped him a line the other day."

"Who's Francis?" Arthur frowned, already disliking the name.

"My brother," Antonio replied. "He's quite famous, actually. But we haven't heard from him in years. I remembered that he had connections with an American recording company and called him the other day. Thought he might be able to help us out, y'know?" He waved a hand dismissively, as if that was the end of the conversation.

"A recording company?" Arthur said, eyes widening, "Really?" He paused, feeling a bit confused, "Wait, if he's your brother, how can he be Feliciano's brother too? I thought you and Feli were cousins."

"Well . . . I think it's something like my dad had a wife, and had me, then he had another wife, and had Francis, and then that wife had another husband and had Feli and Lovi. Or something like that." He looked a little confused himself, "Though I'm not sure how that really makes us cousins at all . . ." He shrugged, "Anyways, Feliciano, what's Francis saying?"

Feliciano turned his attention back to the people around the table, looking as if he'd forgotten they were there at all. "Oh," he said in surprise, saying one more thing in French to the person on the other line, "Francis says he's got us a job, isn't that great?"

Arthur jumped up, "What, seriously? Is this just another gig, or a bloody real job, like a recording deal?"

"A recording deal," Feliciano grinned, "But there's one condition."

"Spit it out already!" Lovino exclaimed in exasperation, his own excitement starting to become apparent on his face.

"We have to move over there," Feliciano said slowly, glancing at Ludwig.

The German raised an eyebrow, "Where, Feliciano," he said quietly.

"America," the Italian replied, gazing pleadingly around the table, "It's a really great offer, right? I mean . . . Shouldn't we take it?"

"I'll go," Lovino said immediately, Antonio nodding at his side.

Arthur hesitated a moment, "Me too, I guess. But I don't have a whole lot of money-"

"Francis says he can set up places for us to say until we hit it big," Feliciano assured as if he could read his band member's mind

Roderich looked uncertain, and was about to open his mouth with an obvious, "No," when he was interrupted.

"We'll go!" Elizaveta squealed, jumping up beside their booth and making them jump, "Right, Roderich, right? I wanna go to America, they have such unique fashion styles over there! Please, please, please!" When Roderich nodded, she threw the menus up in the air with a whoop.

However, strangely enough, it was Feliciano who had yet to say whether he wanted to go or not. He was looking at Ludwig with determined brown eyes, "I'll stay," he whispered.

"What?" Arthur said, aghast, "Feli, you can't! You write our songs, you're our drummer! We need you!"

"No," the Italian smiled sadly, shaking his head, "I'm going to stay, I can't-"

"We're going," Ludwig interrupted, reaching over to ruffle the other man's hair with a small, rare smile, "This is your big chance, right? Don't try to give it up because of me. If you'd asked, I would have said I'd come, idiot."

"It's love," Hungary sang, twirling around with her mind still filled with thoughts of American clothes, "Lovey-dovey, love, love."

"It is not!" Ludwig growled in embarrassment, his hand falling back to his side pointedly. He glanced at Feliciano, "When do we leave then?"

"Francis says he can arrange for tickets for tomorrow night, can we be ready by then?"

"If we pack all night," Ludwig replied, "can everyone else manage?"

"Yes!" Elizaveta said immediately, followed closely by Lovino and Arthur.

Feliciano grinned, "Francis," he said into the receiver, "We'll be there on the plane tomorrow then."

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

Arthur had conveniently forgotten a few crucial points when he'd agreed to this whole thing. One being the fact that unlike everyone else, he'd been born and raised in London, and had never been on an airplane before. The other being the teeny-tiny fact that America was across the _ocean_. The plane had yet to take off and he was already hyperventilating.

Feliciano was sitting next to him, and reached over to loosen his friend's seatbelt, "Look how tight you have that," he chided, "no wonder you're breathing funny."

Ludwig looked up from his seat on the aisle as Arthur made a funny little "eep" noise when Feliciano loosened the seatbelt. "Arthur, switch seats with me," the blond said quietly, motioning towards the window, "I like sitting in the window seats."

The Englishman sighed in relief as he and Ludwig switched, the German's words disguising the fact that he could tell Arthur was freaking out. When he was buckled safely in again, a bit calmer now that he was away from the window, Ludwig took the opportunity to pass Kiku across to him, setting the child in his lap. "Don't squish him too hard when the plane takes off," he said quietly, a slight teasing air to his voice as the engines flared to life.

Arthur tired not to, gluing his attention to the baby as Kiku patted at his hands in a rhythm that may or may not have been patty-cake. The blond began to hum to keep his heart rate down as he felt the plane begin to rumble along the runway, the words from their newest song coming to his lips, "I know you wanna show the world but no one knows your name yet-"

"Wondering when and where and how you're gonna make it," Feliciano said beside him, filling in with the lyrics he'd added the night before.

"You know you can, when you get the chance, except in your face the door keeps slamming," Antonio piped up from behind them.

"And you're feeling more and more frustrated, and getting all kind of impatient," Elizaveta sang from across the isle, "Waiting, we live and we learn-"

"To take one step at a time," Arthur picked up again, closing his eyes as the plane started to lift off the ground, "there's no need to rush. It's like learning to fly, or falling in love . . ."

"It's gonna happen when it's, supposed to happen," Feliciano sang quietly, "and we'll find the reason why, one step at a time."

It was hours later that Arthur dared look out the window, only to feel his stomach drop upon seeing nothing but water. Ludwig was asleep near the glass pane; Feliciano was also out cold, head on the taller man's shoulder. Arthur smiled slightly when he noticed their fingers laced innocently together between them, but decided he wouldn't blackmail them about it. He turned his gaze to the child in his lap, who was playing with peanuts on the tray on the back of the seat in front of them, with no intention of eating them as far as Arthur could tell. Across the aisle, Elizaveta was leaning over a snoozing Roderich and talking to a tall, busty, flustered looking flight attendant short ash-blond hair about American fashion. She flashed Arthur a smile when she caught him looking, and pointed discreetly to the row behind him.

The blond peered through the space between his and Feliciano's seats, blinking in amusement at what he saw. Lovino was still awake, flipping lazily through the Sky Mall catalogue with one hand, the other occupied as his fingers ran through Antonio's hair, the older man asleep with his head in his cousin's lap.

Arthur smiled, leaning back into his own seat, Kiku still in his lap. He had the feeling that this move would be good, for all of them. Though he himself felt a bit reluctant to leave his home country for the first time. He ran a hand through his hair nervously, wondering if America was a different as everyone said it was. Or, hell, what this brother of Antonio's was like. He had after all, licensed his band with the man without meeting him first. He just hoped that wouldn't turn out to be a horrible decision. Yawning, he closed his eyes, deciding that a nap wasn't such a bad idea. It might make him forget that they were currently right over a seemingly endless ocean for a few hours, which would be nice.

_When Arthur dreamed this time, he was no longer at the edge of the river. But rather, he had rolled up his pants past the knees, and had taken the first, tentative step into the water. He was still afraid, yes. But something made him want to cross this time. Because just on the other side of the river, he could see someone standing there, waving at him, waiting for him. _

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

I got this idea from the fact that for awhile now . . . I've _really_ wanted to do an Mpreg. So you have been forewarned. The main character in this fic will be our lovely Arthur Kirkland. :] Poor Arthur . . . We will be subjecting him to angst and torture. (actually, that depends on what your definition of torture is. :D ) the main pairing will be FrancisxArthur, but as you can obviously see, all the others will be mixed in here too, but won't have a plotline like in LDoH. (thank god . . .) speaking of which, since I want to work on both these fics at once, and I already have a shitty computer situation, updates will be slow. Like, once a week if you're lucky. But that's speedy for all of you, isn't it? I get impatient however. *thumbs up*

Anywho . . . This is the only pairing I could even do an Mpreg with. *shudders* mostly because they do have "children". *snerk* Oh, and about Kiku being a baby, there's a reason for that. Remember my OTP, readers of LDoH? Yes, that one. Well, I like to keep it intact, and if they're not countries anymore, age is a factor. So Kiku, I babytized you. And it gives me an excuse to make Ludwig and Feliciano his adopted daddy and mommy. :] which is fun. Yay for fluff.

Oh, and yeah, the flight attendant was Ukraine, *teehee* could you tell from my description? I was gonna make it Bela, but decided she'd probably rather throw a bag of airplane peanuts at Hungary than talk to her. Lol. Oh, and the song they sing is "One Step At A Time" by Jordan Sparks. I don't think I'll be using any original songs for this fic, but they will be singing a lot. (unless u want to donate ur original song. Go ahead and feel free.)

Next chapter, you'll meet Francis, and his friends in New York! (another place I have never been. Hmm . . .) and Francis has some fun (in some cases, scary) friends that we all know and love. :3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes Of A Love Song: Absolutely Invincible British**

If Arthur had thought the plane was bad, he wasn't sure what to call the airport. And if the London airport had been big, well then the JFK airport was, in his opinion, bloody fucking huge. He couldn't even see the top of the ceiling in some parts; it made him too dizzy to look up. There were too many people, all that bustling and pushing to get in and out of gates and through customs, which was where they were supposed to be heading. And, at some point, even Feliciano started to look worried as their suddenly small group began to get separated amongst the crowd. At least, until Elizaveta grabbed everyone, smashed them together in a train like line, and barreled through the throng, shoving people aside in her frustration.

When they finally reached customs Arthur was relieved, thinking that they'd be done in no time and out of this hellhole for good. This, unfortunately, was not to be so.

It was only minutes before Feliciano started bawling—the immigration officers had found an entire container of pasta stashed away in his bags. And because he was Italian, they jumped to the worst of conclusions, beginning to question him about the mafia and drug smuggling. A few rows over, Ludwig could do nothing to help, as he had his own problems. The officers surrounding him were convinced that he had kidnapped Kiku, and the child, like Feliciano, was sobbing uncontrollably from the yells passed between the German and the customs officers.

"He's adopted you fucking idiot!" Ludwig growled, past losing his temper with both Feliciano and Kiku freaking out, and him having no control over the situation, or any way to calm the panicked Italian rows away.

"Then can you kindly show me his papers?" the officer retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Ludwig bit his lip, "They're in the boxes being delivered to our new place, they'll be here next week, I swea-"

"Then we'll have to keep him here until you can bring us some proof," the officer smirked smugly, reaching out as if to take Kiku from the blond.

"You will not," Ludwig's blue eyes grew unusually dark, and he clutched the wailing Kiku closer to him, having no intention of letting go.

The officer, full of himself for his high ranking job, failed to see the danger he was in and uttered the worst string of words possible: "Hand the kid over, you fucking Nazi."

Everyone lost it all at once. Feliciano downed the entire thing of pasta, as if that would solve everything. Which it didn't, as the officers literally thought he'd just taken some illegal drugs and started to yell about forty-two hour containment. Roderich, having heard the Nazi comment, had brained his officer with his reinforced keyboard case and had started to scramble across the rows to defend Ludwig. And Ludwig himself had lunged forward towards the officer who'd spoken the words, utter fury on his face.

Then everything stopped. Roderich huffed as he was clothes-lined across the stomach when an arm wrapped around him mid leap across the waist, the person who'd caught him stepping between the officers and the sobbing Feliciano. And a large hand fell on Ludwig's shoulder, gently urging him back as the hand's owner stood in front of him, barring him from hitting the foul mouthed officer.

A tall man with ash-blond hair and lavender eyes stood between the German and the offending Custom's agent. He pulled his thick scarf tighter around his neck, smacking a long metal water pipe in the palm of his hand, smiling innocently.

"B-Braginski . . ." the officer stuttered, watching the pipe hit the giant man's hand again with wary eyes.

"I'm sorry," Ivan smiled, "but you weren't hurting my friend here, were you?" He started to laugh as a horrified look crossed the officer's face. But it really wasn't much of a laugh, and much more of an eerie, "Kolkolkolkolkolkolkol . . ." Which made Arthur shiver even across the five rows separating them.

Another man, a few inches taller than Ludwig but much shorter than Ivan, stood between Feliciano and the drug-crazy officers, Roderich tucked under his arm like a very disgruntled piece of baggage. He had crimson eyes and striking silver hair, upon which, weirdly enough, sat a small yellow bird. Smirking at the growing crowd of officers, he set Roderich down, turned to wink at Elizaveta, and made a signaling motion behind him towards Antonio, Lovino, and Arthur. "Officers," he said sweetly, "I'm afraid me and my most awesome friends will be taking out leave now, if you don't mind."

An officer near the front stepped forward, "N-now wait a minute, Mister Gilbert, Sir. Even if Francis has high connections, we can't just-"

Gilbert grinned, completely ignoring everything the man said, except for the fact that he obviously had no intention of letting them leave. Whistling to himself, the German threw open the trench coat he'd been wearing. And no, he was not naked beneath it. Instead, a stream of gray feathers came shooting out of the coat, diving towards the officers. Gilbert laughed uproariously, dancing past the customs agents that were now struggling underneath a hoard of pigeons, and urged the others to follow him.

The group bustled out onto the busy streets of New York, Gilbert and Ivan skipping out arm and arm behind them, looking overly pleased with themselves as they hailed down a taxi. And strangely enough, they managed to squish all nine of them, plus Kiku, into one taxi-van, which should have only held seven. Elizaveta had taken a comfortable position on Roderich's lap and Gilbert had taken it upon himself to get more than a little friendly with Ludwig.

"Dude, little bro! What're you doing here?" Gilbert crooned; his arms around Ludwig's neck.

"I could ask the same of you," the blond muttered, trying and failing to detach himself from the older man hanging off of him.

"Well," Gilbert started, putting a hand to his chin in a mockingly thoughtful manner, "It seems that while you were away, I wandered willy-nilly about the world, lost and alone . . ."

"Stop lying," Ludwig interrupted, but Gilbert ignored him.

" . . . And then I stumbled upon this wonderful place called 'New York.' Where I came upon the magical house of Francis, and got adopted by Ivan," Gilbert finished, looking pleased with himself.

At the mention of his name, Ivan craned over his seat in the front of the van, reaching out his hands towards the silver haired man, who laughed and caught them. "See, see? Ivan's my daddy now, Ludwig bro. So that makes him your daddy too!" Gilbert chuckled.

"Yes," Ivan grinned, "Become one with us, Kolkolkolkolkolkolkol . . ."

Arthur stared at them, "That's . . . Disturbing . . ." He muttered, taking Kiku from Feliciano as the Italian tried to help pry Gilbert off of Ludwig. "So anyways," he said, interrupting the conversations of fathers and missing brothers, "You're both working for Francis then?"

"Yes!" Ivan and Gilbert answered together, flashing him identical thumbs up signs.

"Of course!" Gilbert sang.

"We work for Mister Bonnafoy, da," Ivan said in the same tone, "He lets us stay at his house as long as we do his dirty work."

The thick browed blond blinked, "Dirty work?" He turned towards Gilbert, "You mean those pigeons you sicked on the guards earlier? How _did_ you get those into your coat anyways, and past security?"

Gilbert laughed, "Oh, that? I am the Bird Master of course," he declared airily, pointing at the chick still nestled in his hair as if that explained everything, which it didn't.

Arthur jolted in his seat as the taxi suddenly screeched to a halt, coughing as the seatbelt threw him back against his seat after the initial jerk. He leaned against the window, trying to regain his breath, eyes widening as he caught sight of the large array of bright lights lining a walkway just outside the car. Lovino, being impatient as ever, shoved him out the door as soon as he opened it, making him stumble forward and flail his arms wildly so as not to fall over as he stood in front of the enormous building. It was taller than any he'd seen in London and more than three times as wide, English buildings were so skinny and rammed together, and it was absolutely covered in bright, sparkling lights, even though it was a month before Christmas. Arthur gaped, nearly tipping over backwards as he strained to try and catch a glimpse of the top of the skyscraper. "He lives in a hotel?!" he gasped, half in disbelief, half in awe.

"Non," an amused voice spoke up suddenly, "I _own_ the hotel, mon ami."

The Englishman whirled, having to take a step back as he found the speaker to be standing right next to him. And he nearly fell over for a third time in surprise; except that the other caught him by the arm, hauling him back to his feet with simple ease. The man before him now had long, curly, shoulder-length blond hair, though of a much lighter shade than Arthur's own. He was dressed in a dark blue suit that nicely matched his lighter blue eyes and a white dress shirt beneath that had been left unbuttoned, giving him a carefree style that was emphasized in the light stubble on his chin. "Ah, mon cheri, did I startle you?" the newcomer laughed, "Forgive me. We have not officially met before, correct?" He extended a hand towards Arthur, "I'm Francis Bonnefoy. And you, mon ami?"

Arthur visibly flushed, mentally blaming it on the chilly air, though he was used to far worse. Biting his lip, he narrowed his eyes, deciding, manners or not, that he didn't really like this Francis character. At all. "Arthur Kirkland," he muttered after a few moments, shaking the offered hand warily.

Francis laughed, "Oh, mon cheri, why such a sour look on such a pretty face? Though I do have to say that, at first, your eyebrows are rather intimidating."

The shorter blond growled under his breath and not just from the eyebrow comment either. More so from the fact that Francis had yet to release his hand from their handshake. And neither did he seem to have any intention of doing so, as he used the other hand to greet everyone else as they piled out of the car. "Is everyone tired?" he asked, gazing around at them all, "Or are you up for a party?" Feliciano's eyes lit up, "Will there be food, big brother?"

"As much pasta as you can eat, Feli," Francis smiled, ruffling his younger brother's hair affectionately, "Well then, let's all head up to my place, shall we?"

While everyone else cheered, Arthur cursed under his breath, muttering something about how technically, the whole hotel was his house as he was dragged into said building by their eccentric host. He was starting to get the sinking feeling that he'd just signed himself up for a hell on earth experience.

Ivan and Gilbert packed them all into the elevator; which was only supposed to hold ten, yet somehow fit all of them plus their luggage. And Arthur was just starting to wonder if he should add claustrophobia to his long and seemingly growing list of fears, until he found himself pressed up against the back wall of the elevator, Francis leaning over him. The French man said nothing, merely smiling as he stood between Arthur and the over enthusiastic Feliciano and Lovino, who were jumping every time another floor light lit up above the doors.

"You're . . . kinda strange," Arthur said suddenly, staring up into blue eyes. He had a prickling, annoying feeling in his chest when he looked at the man. Blue eyes, as clear, shrouded, and as dangerous as the water. "Have we met before?"

Francis's smile faltered for a split second before returning to how it had been before. "Non, mon cheri," he laughed softly, "But if we had, I'd say something cliché like 'My how you've grown,' and so on."

The elevator doors slid open and they piled out, or more like tripping out as the Italian twins in the back shoved everyone out in their excitement. And they all stared as they found themselves standing in the front hall of a large, elaborately decorated living room. Arthur wasn't sure whether to call this a suite, or a penthouse. Probably the latter, though it might have been something of a higher level entirely. But they didn't have much time to marvel or, in Feliciano's case, raid the candy jar he'd spotted, as their staring was interrupted by a shrill, loud, very pissed sounding voice.

"Ivaaaaann ~ aru!"

Surprisingly, the Russian seemed to wilt slightly, a muttered, "дерьмо," escaping him.

A very pretty man (Arthur thought it was a woman at first glance) with long dark hair tied back in a ponytail came stomping out into the room, carrying a giggling baby under one arm. He stood defiantly in front of the much taller Ivan, glaring dangerously up at him.

"I was working all day, I swear," Ivan said quickly, trying to defend himself, though he still wasn't sure on what exactly he'd done to make him so mad

The other man scowled, picking up the baby by the back of his blue Chinese robes and dangling him in front of the Russian's face, "What have you been teaching him, you letch ~ aru?"

Ivan blinked in confusion, "Huh?"

The dark haired man turned the child towards himself, and the baby lurched forward, latching onto the man's chest bodily, tiny fingers squeezing as he squealed in delight. The man rolled his eyes and grabbed the long curly hair on the side of the child's head, which strangely enough, made him freeze. He turned his attention back to Ivan, eyebrow raised in a way that demanded an answer.

Ivan rubbed at the back of his neck with a nervous laugh, "Oh that . . . Da . . . Yong-Soo, show him the new word you learned too."

"Breasts!" the baby screamed on cue, obnoxiously loud.

Ivan laughed, "See, cute righ-"

The last part of his sentence was cut off with a choking sound, as the much shorter man proceeded to try and strangle him. "You can forger being 'one with me' for a month you pervert ~ aru! You can sleep on the couch for all I care!"

The Russian smiled suddenly, slumping loosely in the man's grip, "Gravity . . . Increasing . . ."

"It is not ~ aru!" the man screamed, struggling to keep his footing as Ivan went completely limp and fell forwards, taking the other with him, making Gilbert have to dive and save the baby from between them before he was squished pancake flat.

"Get off ~ aru!"

"Can't," Ivan sang, "The gravity increased, happens all the time. I think this happened last week too, Yao."

It seriously didn't look like either of them would be moving anytime soon, so Gilbert took it upon himself to make the introductions. "That's Wang-Yao," he said cheerfully, pointing to the man still complaining and struggling loudly beneath the stubborn Ivan, "My other sorta-adopted daddy. He and Ivan are practically married-"

"Are not ~ aru!" Yao interrupted haughtily.

"-Practically married," Gilbert finished. "And this is Yao's cousin, who was orphaned till Yao took him in. His name is Im Yong-Soo," he held up the giggling, breast fascinated baby, "so that makes him my sorta-brother!"

"Bruza!" Yong-Soo chimed in helpfully.

Francis laughed, "Ah, a child after mine own heart. Right Ivan?"

"Right!" Ivan agreed, still squishing Yao into the carpet.

"Raaarrghhh! I'll kill you both ~ aru!" Yao screamed, flailing helplessly beneath the unmoving Russian.

The blond ignored him, turning to face his guests (and Gilbert), "It'll be an hour or so until everyone shows up, feel free to make yourselves at home in the meantime." He waved a hand, gesturing about the room, "Explore at your leisure if you wish. Though please refrain from entering my personal room," he grinned suddenly, raising an eyebrow suggestively, "Unless you really want to . . ."

Arthur blushed as the Frenchman's gaze turned to him, "Don't look at me, you bloody pervert," he snorted, deciding to glare off to the side to avoid eye contact, specifically at the couch, as if it had somehow offended him.

Feliciano dashed off, dragging Ludwig and Kiku with him towards where Gilbert had indicated a fridge being. They'd only been served on meal on the plane, which was about four meals too short in the Italian's opinion. Lovino and Antonio wandered off towards the balcony, saying something about wanting to check out the view. Elizaveta asked something extremely fast of Francis, who gave her a quick reply, before she grabbed Roderich and zipped off towards a back hall, yelling about French clothes. And Yao had finally managed to free himself from Ivan, and had stomped off to the elevator, the Russian (falsely) apologizing behind him.

So it was that Arthur found himself suddenly alone with his host, still glaring pointedly at the couch. "I think I'll take a nap," he muttered, still not looking at the other.

Francis smiled, taking a few steps back, "Feel free, mon ami. I have to run out for a bit and get some supplies for the party."

"Don't you have, like, butlers or something for that?"

"Non," he laughed, "I like doing it myself." He winked at the younger man, "but, mon ami, try not to sleep too heavily. I don't want the hotel to burn down while I'm away, especially with Feliciano using my kitchen."

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Ludwig won't let it. Hell, if you find even a speck of dirt in here when you get back, I'd be surprised, with that guy around. Damn neat freak."

_He was no longer standing on the side of the river, but rather, wading ankle deep in the rushing water. Even though the shore was only a few steps behind him, Arthur felt deep down that it was impossible to even try and go back anymore. He swallowed, taking another tentative step forward, and then another, the river water bubbling around his ankles it didn't seem to be getting any deeper, even as he took a few more small steps. Confidence flared in him at the thought that maybe he'd been scared for nothing, that the water wouldn't get any deeper, and it was possible to simply walk to the other side. He took another step forward, then two more, his sudden courage getting the better of him. And when he stepped down next, he was horrified to find that his foot hit nothing but water._

_Unbalanced, he fell with a cry, plunging headfirst into the icy river. And it was no longer shallow, and he tried to force himself above water, only to be sucked under again by the current, flailing wildly. He gasped and choked as the air rapidly escaped him as he panicked, but he couldn't reach the surface._

"Mon ami!" A sharp voice tugged Arthur out of his dream, a hand shaking his shoulder gently. Gasping for air as if he really had been drowning, he sat bolt upright, emerald eyes wide with fear. Francis was leaning over him, shopping bags in hand and a worried look on his face. "Mon ami, are you all right? You were breathing strange; I thought you were having an asthma attack or something."

Arthur shook his head, trying to regain his breath, "No, no. I'm fine. It was just . . . A nightmare, I think." He put a hand to his forehead, the image of the dream already fading from his memory.

"Anything I can get you?" Francis asked, setting the bags on the nearby coffee table, "Alcohol perhaps?"

Arthur made a face, "No, definitely not." He paused, motioning towards the guitar he'd left leaning against the wall, "But if you could grab that, that'd be nice."

The older blond brought the instrument over, looking a bit confused as he sat down beside the Englishman. His gaze turned to curios however when Arthur pulled the guitar out of the case and began to pluck absently at the strings. "Is that a song?" he asked lightly, trying to make conversation.

"Oh, um, yeah," Arthur replied, distracted as he played the soft tune, "Don't know what it's called yet though."

"Any lyrics?"

"No," the shorter man laughed, "I'm not really good at lyrics like Feli is. And the tune isn't finished, so no. No lyrics."

Francis smiled, "Then let's write some, mon cheri. It could help take your mind off of that nightmare, non?"

"Err . . . But I-"

"Play that last part again, and I'll start," he winked, "Feliciano learned from me, after all." He waited as Arthur complied, and he hummed the tune to match the sound of the guitar, singing the first words that popped into his head. "I'd come for you."

Arthur blinked, "Are you trying to turn this into a dirty song?"

"Non," Francis laughed, "Just sing the first thing that comes to mind, mon cheri. It's more fun like that."

The Englishman thought a moment before continuing to play, "No one but you," he sang quietly, embarrassed.

"But only if you asked me to," Francis continued.

The blond raised a characteristic eyebrow, "This song sounds kinda gay," he mock sang.

Francis pretended to look offended, "Only if you swing that way." He laughed, watching with amusement as Arthur tried to hold his breath to keep from doing the same, which didn't last long, Francis deciding on the method of staring at him until he let out a choked coughing laugh. The older man grinned, glancing at the clock out of the corner of his eyes, "Mon ami, the party will be starting soon, shall we head up to the roof?"

Arthur hesitated, "I-"

"Mon cheri," Franis chided softly, taking the younger man's hand, "this party is for you." He smiled, "And anyways, I want to hear you sing on stage."

"You have a _stage_ on your roof?" Arthur asked incredulously, allowing himself to be led to the elevator, guitar still in hand.

"Oui, and a pool too," Francis smirked proudly, "It's a very big roof."

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

"He's, like, pretty good," a blond with half lidded jade eyes said lazily, sipping at his glass of wine, though he didn't look old enough to drink.

Francis laughed, "Mon Arthur? Oui." He let his own eyes meet the stage again, smiling. The blond in question was completely absorbed in the song he was singing, leaning into the microphone as his fingers flew across the guitar strings. "So you'll let him play as a guest performer at your next concert then, Feliks?"

Feliks flipped some of his shoulder length blond hair behind his ear in a nonchalant manner, "Yeah, sure. It's like, totally fine." He glanced at Francis again, "But if you have to send one of your lackeys with, then, like, send Gilbert."

"Not Ivan?" Francis asked, amused.

"The deal's off if you send that twat," Feliks snorted, "Anyways, aren't you going to, like, start the dance soon? I'm bored, and tired. And I still have to, like, totally do the opening number. Promotional stuff for you and all, mister boss-man." He waved a hand in front of his face to show his annoyance.

"Oh hush," the Frenchman said, making a shooing motion in reply, "They're almost done with this song."

"_All's well that ends well! That's right!_

_A wining army will not recognize defeat!_

_My sarcasm's in good taste_

_Laugh, laugh, go forward!"_

The crowd of guest watching cheered, clapping enthusiastically. Arthur blushed and grinned, Antonio lapsing into deep, very sarcastic bows behind him, and Feliciano looking ready to burst with excitement at the reception they were receiving. "T-thank you, all of you," Arthur beamed, taking the microphone in his hand, "Hopefully we'll be playing for even bigger audiences in the near future! We're Rotating Earth, and we hope you'll support us!"

The audience whooped and clapped again, a few "awws" emitting from them as Ivan led the group off the stage and Gilbert took their place. "Yo!" the silver-haired man exclaimed loudly into the microphone, to which he received a stony silence. "Fine, be that way," he muttered, "I just won't introduce the next guest then."

"You'd better," Feliks drawled, coming to stand beside Gilbert, who visibly jumped in surprise.

"Err . . . Yeah! Anyways, we're going to start the dance now, and while you all get down with it and . . . Stuff . . ." Gilbert stalled nervously, Feliks still glaring at him in a bored manner, "We're having our special guests, Warsaw, play the opening number!"

Arthur had to cover his ears from the sound of the screams that resulted at this announcement as he made his way over to Francis's table. Shooting the blond a questioning look, he yelled over the burst of music from the stage, "Warsaw? Those guys are your band?!"

"Of course," Francis smirked, "Only the best get my sponsorship, mon ami."

The blond blushed again as he sat down, "Then I really don't think-"

"Your band is good," Francis murmured, leaning closer so that he could be heard over the roar of Feliks's group, "Not as good as Warsaw, yet. But I think that one day, you can be better. Mon Arthur, now that I've heard you sing in front of a crowd, I'm convinced. You truly have a beautiful voice."

The Englishman shook his head, starting to stutter with embarrassment, "I-I'm gong to go get something to drink, excuse me." He stood up from the table, tripping over himself as he hurried away towards the open bar. Francis watched him go with a small smile, laughing softly to himself. It was so fun to get people like Arthur flustered like that. A hobby of his, actually, though not his favorite.

Arthur ordered a small, strong shot, downing it in a single gulp and wincing as it stung his throat. He gave himself a few good slaps to the face, trying to clear his head. Blushing around a pervert like that, ridiculous. He'd deny it if anyone ever asked. Shaking his head, he caught sight of Feliciano, Lovino, Antonio, and Ludwig seated around another small table, waving at him like something was on fire. Feliciano grinned when he saw that Arthur had caught sight of him and held up eight fingers, signaling that the lead band member should pick up said number of various drinks for a game of Russian roulette, alcohol style. Arthur rolled his eyes, turning back to the bar and ordering the nastiest combination he could think of before setting off with the laden tray towards his band mates.

His eyes fell upon the stage again, watching with his mouth half open in awe as Feliks and another strangely young looking man with slight auburn-brown hair danced across the stage, singing over the crowd's cheers and screams. He didn't notice the cat leap out of its owner's hands and underneath his feet. But he did notice that he was suddenly airborne, the tray crashing to the ground and the glasses shattering into tiny pieces, their contents splashing across the tiled floor around the-

Arthur drew in a sharp breath before he hit the water. He'd forgotten about the pool, and he'd been so caught up in the music and the band on stage that he hadn't noticed how close to it he'd gotten. He struggled to the surface, trying his best to keep his head above water, letting out a terrified cry before he sank again. But this time, as he couched and gagged on the water he was swallowing, it wasn't a dream. He was drowning, for real.

Just like before. Drowning with no one to save him. Hadn't this happened once before, by an actual river? He couldn't remember, and he felt his consciousness slipping as he flailed helplessly. He faintly heard the splash above him, but he couldn't figure out what it meant until he felt the hand grab his wrist, pulling him up against a warm chest and wrapping tightly around his back. _There's . . . Someone to save me this time . . ._ he thought briefly, the dark unconsciousness falling over him.

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

This story is one of those ones where the characters seem to be telling me what to do, not the other way around. I was stuck at the beginning of the party scene when Poland walked into my head and said something like, "Hey, I'm, like, gonna have a band too." So I said okay. Have fun with that Feliks. The other members of his band are Liet, and the other two Baltics btw.

Liet was the one singing and dancing with him when Arthur fell in the pool. Which was something else Francis said to me, "I have a _pool_ on my roof." Do you really . . . Okay, I'll use that then. (Can people even really have those on their roofs?) Anywho . . . Lotsa new charies here. I think I'm gonna call the Ivan-Yao-Yong Soo family the Communist family from now on. It's too funny. And Gilbert, Pigeon master. Lol.

Ah, and the song Arthur and the band sing is "Absolutely Invincible British," from Axis Powers Hetalia. I couldn't resist making him sing it, I love that song. n_n So I named the chapter that too. *le sigh* I hope u all aren't waiting for the conception of these Mpreg babies right now, we still have at least a chapter to go before that, if not two. Lol. We have to get Arthur VERY drunk first. Very. And THEN we can have hot passionate FrUK smex all over Francis's hotel. But not until after the beer.

Ah, and also, the word Ivan says in Russian is shit. Hahahaha.

*skips off to go scan Hetalia AmericaxJapan Doujinshi*


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes Of A Love Song: I Could Get Used To This**

Arthur coughed and gagged, choking on a mouthful of water and rolling over onto his elbows to throw it up. Chest heaving, he collapsed again and immediately felt strong hands turn him over onto his back once more. He blinked open his eyes weakly, catching a spark of startling blue above him.

"Oh, mon cheri, are you all right?" A voice asked, tinged with concern.

The Englishman shook his head, coughing again as he gulped down air. Oh good lord, he really had almost drowned. His luck was completely terrible, wasn't it. He drew in another shaky breath, the sounds around him starting to become clearer. It was Francis leaning over him, he could tell that now. The worried voice and the hands on his chest, gently urging him to breath were familiar.

He could hear Feliciano sobbing somewhere in the background, wailing about how it was all his fault because he asked Arthur to go get the drinks when he should have done it himself. Ludwig was close by, presumably, as his low voice could be made out beneath the Italian's obnoxious crying, whispering words of consolation. Gilbert and Antonio, Arthur couldn't believe this at first, were _laughing_. He made mental note to slug them both later. Turning his head back towards Francis, who was still couched over him, he noticed that the older man was absolutely soaked, his expensive suit dripping all over the both of them. "W-what happened?" He asked, coughing again, trying his best to keep his stomach contents in for the time being.

A slow, relieved smile spread across Francis's face, "Mon cheri," he said quietly, a sigh escaping him, "I never thought you'd scare me like that again." He shook his head when Arthur raised a characteristic eyebrow at the word "again," and continued, "Heracles's cat got away, and you tripped, mon ami. Right into the pool no less." His smile fell slightly when he saw Arthur give a very noticeable shiver, and he vaguely remembered that the month was now November, not a great time to fall into a freezing pool.

The dark browed blond gasped in surprise as he was suddenly lifted into the air and up into the older man's arms. It wasn't the most comfortable position to be in, as they were both dripping wet, and for Arthur, it was utterly mortifying. He could only think of a handful of things that were more embarrassing, one of those included falling into a pool and drowning in the middle of a party. But still, this was bad, very bad. Unfortunately, however, he couldn't make his legs move at the moment, and he only struggled for a second or two before he buried his face in the front of Francis's soaking wet suit with an audible groan.

"Continue on, continue on," Francis said lightly, nodding to the gathered crowd around them. "Mon Arthur and I just need to take the rest of the night off, if you don't mind. But please, go ahead and make use of this! It means I won't be pissed at you all if you trash my place until tomorrow morning." His eyes narrowed, and he nodded once to Ivan, "But if you _do_ happen to leave it trashed, Ivan has my permission to eat you," he said in all seriousness.

Arthur wasn't sure what Francis had meant by "eat," but he was glad he wouldn't be staying around to find out as he was carried bridal style towards the stairs, Ivan laughing darkly in the background as the party guests shuffled back to their business. He shivered as he suddenly felt Francis's breath near his ear, the door to the man's personal floor closing behind them. "Ami, let's get you changed and warmed up before you catch pneumonia too." The blond was set down gently on the couch as the older man left the room for a moment, returning with an armful of towels and what looked like a few pairs of flannel pajamas.

He blushed as Francis began unbuttoning his shirt, but he didn't resist, feeling too exhausted to walk, let alone start a meaningless fight over something silly. Francis wrapped a towel around him, beginning to dry him off with fierce, but gentle movements, the friction of the fluffy towel on the younger man's skin causing him to warm up at the same time. The older blond was just about to start on his pants when Arthur snapped back to reality, jumping back a bit. "Err, wait. You should go get changed too, I can get dressed myself, really."

Francis nodded, backing off and standing off, "Of course, mon ami. I'll be back in a moment then."

As the other man left, Arthur remembered that of all other misfortunes, his other bag, which held most of his clothes, including his underwear, had been the one to get lost on the flight over. No doubt sitting in the middle of the bloody Atlantic ocean by now for all it was worth. He sighed as he stripped and pulled on the loaned pair of pajama pants, wary of the garment, just as he was the man it belonged to. But he didn't feel like looking through the single carryon that had managed to safely make the trip to see if he had any nightclothes in there. He shivered again, his wet hair dripping onto his shoulders as he pulled the shirt on.

Another towel flopped over his head and hands began rubbing it across his hair as Arthur started in surprise. "Mon cheri, are you sure you're all right?" Francis asked, his chin resting on top of the younger man's head as he drew the towel off.

Arthur smiled slightly, "Yeah, I'm okay." He allowed his hand to be taken as the Frenchman looked at him worriedly, "It was just . . . A little scary for me I guess."

"Of course, cheri," Francis said softly, closing his eyes and sighing.

The younger man began to fiddle with the strings on the pajama pants nervously, "Um . . . So, where's the band and everyone going to sleep tonight?"

Francis smiled, "I have suite rooms prepared on the next floor down for all of you. But mon ami, you're staying here for tonight.

"Huh?!" Arthur turned bright red, green eyes widening.

Francis laughed, "You'll catch pneumonia if you don't. Unless you want to share a bed with one of your band mates instead, that could be arranged." He chuckled as Arthur started to stutter in protest, "A necessary precaution, ami. Don't worry, I won't touch you, I just happen to have one of those fancy heating mattresses in my room. And I can keep an eye on you to make sure you don't suddenly pass out or something else mauvais during the night."

It was half an hour later, after a cup of hot milk and some fiddling with the mattress settings, that Arthur finally realized something. "You . . . Saved me . . ." he said quietly, facing Francis across the bed in the dark.

The older blond smirked, "Of course, cheri."

Arthur blushed for what must have been the millionth time that night, "Th-thank you," he muttered grudgingly. But he really was grateful. He didn't want to die before his musical career had even hit it off. That would be a nightmare. Speaking of which, he wasn't sure if he wanted to sleep at all, afraid of what tonight's dream would uncannily predict. "Is there some way I can thank you?" he asked, trying to keep the conversation going so he wouldn't have to fall asleep.

After a short moment of thoughtful silence, Francis grinned, "There is _one _ thing."

"Which is . . ." Arthur prompted.

"Let me show you around the city tomorrow," Francis smiled brightly.

"Huh?" That wasn't much of a reward, in Arthur's opinion.

"Mon Cheri," Francis cooed softly, "New York is almost as beautiful as Parris. I want to show it to you. It will be your new home, after all."

"But-"

Francis rolled over, "No protests!" he said lightly, "Go to sleep so we can get an early start tomorrow."

Arthur sighed and turned his back to the other with a mumbled curse. This had to be another disaster in the making, he just knew it.

_He was on the other side of the river, finally. Someone was holding his hand, whispering something soothing in his ear as they traced small circles on his palm. Arthur didn't resist when the person's other hand caught his chin, tilting it up for a soft kiss on the lips. The hands curled around his back, drawing him close, the sound of the river behind they as they talked softly to each other. Whispered, meaningless murmurs that promised something more. And Arthur's heart skipped a beat at the anticipation of it._

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

When Arthur awoke the next morning he was surprised to find that Francis had indeed kept to his word and stayed on his own side of the bed. He smirked to himself, rolling over onto his back and stretching with more than enough room to spare. It really was a big bed, probably why Francis had managed to keep his hands to himself, which was just a bit disappoint-

The blond sat bolt upright, slapping himself on the sides of his face. Nope, no, he did not just think that. But then again, hadn't he basically promised the older blond a date? Okay, a tour of the city together, but still. It _sounded_ like a date. Sighing, he tucked his hands behind his head and lay back down. He was excited, he had to admit. Not just about today's trip, but about his contract as well. He was going to play with Warsaw on their next tour, it was hard to believe.

He laughed to himself, feeling a little giddy at the thought. And then promptly let out a rather unmanly shriek as Francis suddenly sat up and threw himself across the bed at him.

"Ah, mon cheri! Are you excited for our jour dehors?"

Arthur sputtered in protest, untangling himself from underneath the Frenchman and falling to the floor. Rubbing the back of his head where he'd hit it when he fell, he glared at the older blond, who was grinning down at him with an obnoxiously smug look on his face. "Bloody wanker," he muttered sourly. Nope, he definitely didn't like this guy. Not at all.

Francis made a tsking sound at him, waggling his finger in a scolding manner, "Now, now, mon Arthur, such a dirty mouth. It's very unbecoming."

"Bite me," Arthur scowled.

"Of course, mon cheri," Francis replied without missing a beat, "Now where would you like that?"

The Englishman's face turned from pissed, to utterly mortified, "S-shut up! Are we going to go out today or not!"

The older man smiled, "Oui. Can you be ready in an hour? I'll leave some clean clothes for you on the bed. I just have to run out and get some things first."

Arthur raised a characteristic eyebrow, "Okay . . ."

"Good!" Francis exclaimed, flinging the blankets up into the air as he leapt off the bed, already fully dressed.

The younger man stared at him, "You've been up this whole time?" he asked incredulously, eyeing the other's clothes.

"Most certainly, cheri," Francis winked, "I was waiting for you to wake up."

"You were watching me sleep?!"

Francis laughed, skipping out of the room with Arthur hot on his heels, the younger man having every intent of ripping him to shreds.

So an hour later, with Francis nimbly dodging certain death, Arthur found himself sitting on the couch, waiting for him to get back from wherever the hell he was. Kiku was in his lap, chewing on a toy car and wearing fuzzy blue footy pajamas. Feliciano was seated beside them, playing with a handful of cars as if he was the same age as his child. "You look oddly fashionable today," he remarked lightly to the blond.

Arthur stared down at the outfit he was currently dressed in, a tight black t-shirt and a pair of tight blue jeans with a dark green zip-up hoodie. The clothes Francis had left for him. "Oh?" he said, turning a glare at the Italian, "And how I usually dress isn't fashionable?"

Feliciano failed to catch the "do not answer that" tone, "Ve, not really. You sorta dress like you work in a cubicle rather than play in a band."

The blond blinked. Now that he thought about it, Feliciano, Lovino, and Antonio all dressed like this on a regular basis. Though Roderich would probably rather die than join the fad, much to Elizaveta's disappointment. "It's kinda . . . Tight," he said finally, a statement which only made Feliciano laugh.

"Well, apparently that's what all the girls like to see," the auburn haired man smiled.

"Then why's that stuck up Austrian, who dresses like he's from the 1600's, the only one with a girlfriend?" Arthur pointed out.

"Umm . . ." Feliciano bit his lip, looking like he was actually thinking about the matter. He blinked and looked up as Ludwig came into the room, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Ludwig, Ludwig!" the Italian jumped up, throwing his arms around the blonde's neck. "Ludwig, do you love me more when I dress like this, or when I dress in something else?"

Ludwig looked taken aback, "What the hell? Why should I care what you wear, idiot."

"But what's your _favorite_ thing to see me wear?" Feliciano continued to pester.

"Nothing!" Ludwig burst out, "I said I don't care what you-" Realization of what he'd said seemed to hit him and a horrified look spread across his face as Arthur snorted with laughter behind his hand. "I-I . . ." He stuttered, at a loss for something to make up for his slip of the tongue.

"Ludwig likes to see me with nothing on the best?" Feliciano teased, undoing the button on his own pants, "Okay."

"Don't you dare strip!" Ludwig hissed.

"But Ludwig said no clothes was his favorite, ve," Feliciano stated with mock innocence.

The German narrowed his eyes, "Then do it _later_," he muttered.

Arthur began to whistle, pretending he hadn't heard a thing. But his attempts at this were distracted as at that moment the elevator door slid open and Francis poked his head into the room. "Mon cheri, come over here," he called, motioning with a hand.

The Englishman stared at him a moment, suspicious, before handing Kiku to Ludwig and making his way across the room. He gasped in surprise when he reached the elevator as something was suddenly shoved into his hands. Leaves and silky flower petals brushed against his face as he looked down at it, eyes widening. A bouquet of crimson roses. He blushed, lowering his gaze again as he tilted his head down to sniff them. "What're these for?" he asked quietly, ignoring Feliciano laughing loudly behind him.

Francis smiled, tugging him into the elevator and pushing the button for the lobby, "For you of course, cheri." He drew a map out of his pocket, unfolding it and pressing it up against the wall of the elevator, "I promised you a excursion grande of New York, did I not? So I started with the most beautiful of roses from a shop down the street." He waved a hand at the map, "And I hope you're up for walking, mon ami. There's a lot of places we have to go. And the taxis and subway can only get you so far, non?" He pulled a scarf out of his coat pocket, wrapping it around the bewildered Arthur's neck with a laugh as the other glared at him, "So you don't catch cold, cheri. It's a bit chilly outside."

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

The first place they went was the no-brainer for anyone visiting the city. Arthur stayed in the exact center of the boat for the first fifteen minutes of the trip, sitting in a chair with his head between his legs as he did his best not to be sick. He hated water, absolutely hated it. Francis sat beside him, looking very at home as if he'd taken this tour countless times. The older man stood up suddenly, looking out over the bay with a grin, "Arthur, look, there it is!"

"If I stand up I'll puke," Arthur muttered.

"Non, mon cheri, look, look," he grabbed Arthur's hand, forcefully dragging him out of the chair. "We have to go and look! Come on, to the railing, let's go!"

Arthur shook his head, trying to pull back, "Hell no! I don't have a death wish!"

Francis gave one last tug, pulling Arthur against him as they came to the railing, arms wrapping tightly around his waist from behind as he turned the blond out to face the water. "Mon cheri, calm down," he whispered, lips nearly touching the other's ear, "if you fell in, I'd just jump in after you again. Nothing will happen, Je jure."

The dark browed blond flushed, turning his gaze reluctantly out over the water. It really was an amazing sight, the tall intricate statue perched atop Liberty Island. "The French gave that to America, right?" he asked, trying to make conversation.

"Oui," Francis laughed, "It wasn't green back then though."

"It wasn't?"

"Non. Lady Liberty is made of copper. It's kinda like rust, the same thing will happen to a penny if it's really old." He tilted his head towards the statue, "It's a symbol of freedom for anyone who comes here to make a new life. It promises good things to come. So, for you, that must mean that your band is bound for great things, mon Arthur."

Arthur smiled slightly, "And what did it mean for you, when you first came here?"

The older man frowned slightly, "That was quite awhile ago, cheri."

"How long ago could it have been?" Arthur snorted. "How old are you, twenty-five?"  
"Twenty-_six_," Francis corrected, "And it was ten years ago." He smiled at the shocked look on the younger man's face. "Oui, I was just sixteen, and I came alone. I worked as a model for awhile, before going into the managing business. Now I seek out the new talent. The young, gorgeous models and the fresh and hot rock stars." He laughed when Arthur's face turned a blazing red. "Just like you," he teased.

"That was _not_ what I wanted to hear," Arthur muttered, "I asked what the statue meant to you when you first came here."

Francis stared across the water at the Statue of Liberty with a glazed, thoughtful expression. "It promised success. For myself, and all the people I met along the way. And . . ." He paused, searching for the right words, "That I'd get to see someone again. I knew that if I got to be famous, I could meet that person one more time."

Arthur leaned back, looking up at him, "Why did you have to get famous just for that? So they'd notice you?"

"More or less," Francis chuckled. "But mostly, I just knew that that person was destined for greatness. I wanted to be able to meet them again and show them that I was worthy of being close to them. That's all."

"And did you? Meet them I mean," Arthur asked, emerald eyes wide with curiosity.

Francis smiled softly, "Yes. I did."

"How'd that go?"

The older man smirked, "Mon Arthur, that's a story that's still being told."

"I can't believe they have a restaurant _just_ for cheesecake," Arthur commented, his hands shoved deep in his pockets as they walked side by side in the brisk November air. "Hell, it's not like cheesecake is the 'best dessert ever' or something," he added sarcastically.

Francis laughed, "Oh, mon cheri? Then what is the 'best dessert ever?'"

"Umm . . ." Arthur's gaze turned thoughtful for a moment before he looked away, "I guess French pastries are pretty good . . ." He caught sight of something and began to wander away, not giving Francis any time to comment. "Whoa," he said in awe, gazing up at the thing with widening emerald eyes.

The taller blond followed his gaze to a huge circular fountain with water spraying up at different heights from it's center. "Do you not have fountains like this in England?" he inquired curiously, smiling slightly at the look on Arthur's face.

"No," Arthur said a little too quickly, "we do. They're just a bit . . . Smaller." He approached the marble wrought edge, the boundary wall between street and water that ended up, on closer inspection, coming up to his chest. "Or a lot," he decided, leaning his elbows on the stone and craning to catch sight of all the pennies lying underneath all the bubbling clear water. He turned, blinking in surprise as Francis suddenly jumped up onto the edge of the fountain beside him, and gasping when the older blond reached down and pulled him up as well. Arthur teetered on the edge for a moment, arms spinning as he struggled to keep his balance. At least until Francis reached over his shoulders, catching his hands and holding him steady.

"I'm starting the think that you're _trying_ to drown me," Arthur muttered, staring down at the water to their right apprehensively.

"Non," Francis chuckled, gently edging the other blond forwards along the wall, hands still clasped in his. "The best way to see a fountain, cheri, is to walk around it. Besides, if you do, your wish will most certainly come true."

Arthur began to walk, hands over his shoulders just slightly as Francis held him steady, "Is that so. What would I wish for anyways? I already got what I wanted."

"And what would that be, mon cheri?" Francis asked, following him with more confident steps, looking at the water cascading up into the air and falling back down in small droplets not far from them.

"The contract you gave me. It's what I've always wanted," he looked down at his feet, " so . . . Thank you . . ."

Francis smiled, "But everyone has many wishes, Arthur. Don't you have something else you want to ask for?" He reached into his pocket, drawing out a coin purse and freeing his other hand from Arthur's to rifle around in it. After a moment, he pressed a shiny penny into the blonde's palm, "Here, make a wish."

Arthur fingered the cold copper absently, staring down at the water. He really couldn't think of anything else he wanted. He had his band, a recording deal, his friends. There wasn't much else to ask for. Closing his eyes, he tossed the penny up into the air, listening to the soft plop it made in the water a second later.

"What did you wish for, ami?" Francis murmured near is ear.

"It's a secret," Arthur smirked, hopping down from the fountain. He turned, grinning and waving a hand at the older man, "Come on already! We still have time left before the sun sets! What else are you going to show me?" Francis laughed softly in reply, stepping down to follow him.

"Darn," Arthur muttered, slapping the side of the coin powered binoculars in irritation. "That's two bloody dollars I've spent on this thing now. Why can't it last longer?" He sighed, turning to shuffle over to the tall gate surrounding the roof of the skyscraper and slipping his fingers between the links. "What's this thing here for anyways?" he asked, eyeing the fence with distaste.

"So people don't jump off, cheri," Francis said in amusement as he walked up to stand beside him. He snorted with laughter as Arthur leaned against the fence to peer over the edge, a horrified look on his face. "Isn't it awful? To be so depressed you'd think of doing something like that?"  
"I wanna know if you'd go crunch, or splat if you jumped from here. Probably splat," Arthur said, completely serious. He glanced at his companion, who was covering his laughter with a hand. "It wouldn't be very funny you know," he pointed out, which only made Francis laugh harder.

"Non, non, I know," the Frenchman assured, waving a hand. He looked thoughtful for a moment, gazing off the side of the building with glazed eyes, "Do you know what this place is famous for? Besides being tall, that is."

"Umm . . . No?" Arthur said, bemused. He sucked in a startled breath as Francis leaned over, pulling him into his arms in a tight embrace.

"There's this movie," Francis whispered before Arthur could protest, "About how two lovers meet on top of the Empire State Building. Actually, there's a few movies now. But I think I like that Sleepless In Seattle one best-"

"Is there a point to this story?" Arthur interrupted quietly, fingers curling into the folds of Francis's coat.

"No," Francis smiled, tangling his arms beneath Arthur's and pulling him impossibly closer. He laughed again as Arthur muttered something against his chest, _you really haven't changed, cheri._ "We should get going," he said after a few more moments.

"Already?" Arthur asked, blushing as he realized what he'd said, "I- I mean . . . It's only just gotten dark . . ." He mumbled something, looking away. God this must look totally weird to anyone watching. Two guys hugging on top of the Empire State Building and talking about their plans for later. "Can't we, I don't know, go get a drink, or something?"

Francis raised an eyebrow teasingly, "Are you old enough to drink cheri?"

"I'm twenty-two you ruddy git," Arthur snapped back. He turned his gaze towards the lightly clouded sky, the stars invisible due to the city's lights. What else was he supposed to say, that he strangely liked spending time with Francis like this? Now _that_ would sound weird, if nothing else did. Though he didn't know why the solution of _drinking_ had come out of his mouth. He was the absolute worst when it came to holding his liquor. But Francis didn't know that.

"Oui, cheri. Shall we go then?" He held out a hand towards the Englishman, slightly surprised when the other took it without any reluctance in his eyes. "There's a good bar just a few blocks away, not to far from my place either."

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

Lalalalalala . . . Smut next chapter, promise. We're about to booze Arthur's brains out, lol. So that should be the sufficient amount of drunk to keep him in happy-land. :] Also, every chapter so far has been named after, and has the theme of a song. Thought that'd be okay since it's a rock band story. :D so this chapter's is I Could Get Used To This, which inspired most of the pair's "date" lol. But speaking of, that's what made the damn chapter so hard!!! I have never been to NYC, so I was like "uhh . . ." and plus, I have no internet, here on a break from school. So the fountain . . . Let's just pretend it's real. X3 and yeah, I used Sleepless In Seattle as a ref for the ESB, Hahahahaha. Someone wanna buy me a trip to New York? I wanna dress in America cosplay and run around. Jk, sorta. I really would do that, *snerk* now, I must go trudge off to get rid of my writers block on Little Drop of Healing. D:


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes Of A Love Song: Pub And Go**

Arthur was never a very good drunk. Or very good at holding his liquor, period. So it was only after a few drinks at a small local club near Francis's building that he was starting to see stars. "Lotsa stars here," he mumbled groggily, glancing at his companion out of the corner of his eye.

Francis merely raised an eyebrow at this, confused since he knew it almost impossible to see stars while under the lights of main New York City. "I think you've had enough to drink, cheri," he decided, trying to pry the newest glass from the other's hand, to no avail.

"I'm not drunk," Arthur complained, keeping a firm grip on the glass, "I believe in me."

"Well please don't," Francis sighed in exasperation. "And now that I think about it, are you even old enough to drink? And don't you dare say 'in England.'"

The younger man rolled his eyes, "I'm twenty-two, frog. Plenty old enough."

"But not experienced enough to keep your alcohol down. If you throw up in my hotel, you're paying for it cheri," Francis muttered, turning back to his own drink with a frown. His mind wandered for a moment, lost in his own thoughts and the reflection of Arthur's face on the side of the glass. It was when he turned his attention fully to the later that he realized that the singer was watching him. "Something wrong, angleterre?" he asked, smiling slightly and taking a swig of his drink.

"Have you ever done a guy before?" Arthur asked, eyes still glazed over with drunken stupor.

The Frenchman immediately choked and spit out his drink, "Wh-where did that aliéné

question come from?"

Arthur looked thoughtful for a moment, as if he couldn't remember either, and replied, "Dunno. Just wanted to know. You seem like the type."

"The type to what," Francis growled, feeling slightly insulted.

The younger man waved a hand as if he didn't feel like explaining, turning his gaze to the open dance floor behind him, eyes resting on the microphone. "People can sing here?"

"Oui," Francis replied, sounding tired. "Do you plan on trying it out?"

Before he'd even finished the sentence, Arthur had walked over to the microphone, twirling the cord around his arm as he lifted it up, searching through the list of songs on the wall. He scowled after a moment, apparently not finding the one he wanted, before turning to the man with dreadlocks playing the piano a few feet away, yelling something over the sound of the current song. To which the man nodded, switching the music off and ignoring the cries of protest. Francis scoffed at this, as it was not one of the bands he sponsored, and thus unworthy. But he raised curious eyes to Arthur, noticing the man staring down at the microphone in his hand and swallowing hard, as if he was nervous.

His voice started out soft, a little hazy from the three or so drinks he'd had, the pianist playing the melody he'd requested.

"I am not a child now, I can take care of myself.

Mustn't let them down now, mustn't let them see me cry,

Cause I'm fine, I'm fine.

I'm too tired to listen, I'm too old to believe,

All those childish stories.

There is no such thing as faith, and trust, and pixie dust."

Francis blinked, once, twice. He'd heard this song before, years and years ago. It was more than a little surprising to hear it again after all this time.

"And I'll try, but it's so hard to believe.

"I'll try, but I can't see what you see.

I try, I try, I try . . ."

The crowd in the bar now had their full attention focused on Arthur, his voice reverberating and echoing around the room that had suddenly grown silent. It was an odd occurrence in a New York bar, but Francis had expected it none the less. He'd always known that Arthur's voice had this affect on people. The man was the best singer he'd ever met, a rising star not to be ignored. These people were receiving a special treat. Though it felt a little strange to Francis that this was the song Arthur had chosen to sing.

"I can finally see it, now I have to believe,

All those precious stories.

All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust."

Francis became lost in the words again, in a memory that was too far back for Arthur himself to recall. But he brought it to mind all the same, mixing the voices of the child he'd known, and the man who now leaned over the microphone. He was so caught up in the thought, that he didn't notice when Arthur sneaked up behind him, chest against the taller man's back. "I'm tired," he murmured near Francis's ear, his words slightly slurred, "Can we go back now?"

"Of course cheri," Francis said immediately, standing up to lead the younger out of the bar, the crowed still staring after them even when the music restarted. But the Frenchman's mind was still clouded with thoughts when they stumbled back into his rooms. After all, he had been waiting for this day a very, very long time. And he wanted to take it all without hesitation, even though he knew that that would be the worst choice possible. Because, more than his own desires, he wanted Arthur to succeed in his dream of being famous. He couldn't, wouldn't stand in the way of that. Ever.

At least, that's what he told himself until Arthur began to undo his tie when they entered the bedroom. He jumped back, slightly startled, "Cheri, what are you doing?"

Arthur raised a characteristic eyebrow, "Who taught you sex-ed, frog? I'm curious and I want to try, isn't that obvious?"

"Try what?" Francis's voice was nearly a squeak at this point as the tie was tossed aside.

"You never answered me before, when I asked," Arthur complained sourly, his eyes still glazed with alcohol. "About having ever done it with a guy before," he added when Francis continued to stare wide-eyed at him.

"Don't be stupide angleterre. You're really, really drunk. You're going to regret-"

Arthur blinked and gazed up at him blankly, "Being drunk doesn't change the people one is attracted to. I'm curious about you too, idiot. There's something about you I can't put my finger on." He shrugged, "But that's fine if you don't want to, I probably won't even remember this tomorrow, so the chance will be gone . . ." There was a light, teasing edge to his voice, as if he knew Francis would think twice if he said it.

And the other blond did, his mind telling him no, but his body screaming yes, in a case where mind over body wasn't the end result. He lunged forward, catching Arthur's arm just before he turned away, spinning him around and placing a searing, desperate kiss on him. Surprised when Arthur didn't immediately pull away, as Francis half expected him too, he looped his arms around the other's waist, making escape next to impossible.

The younger man clenched his fingers into the folds of Francis's shirt, fumbling around the buttons. Francis licked forcefully at his lips, parting them and delving inside, causing Arthur to gasp and jerk back slightly, only to find himself restrained by the tight grip the other had on him. After a few more moments, he managed to undo all the buttons, tossing Francis's shirt aside as they toppled over onto the bed. He untangled himself from Francis's arms, sitting up a bit so that he could pull off his own shirt before the older man pushed him back down again.

Francis edged the Englishman farther back onto the bed, sliding a hand beneath the other's belt as he leaned up to kiss him again. "You started this," he hissed, "so I'm not going to stop halfway just because you tell me to," he slid Arthur's pants all the way off, adding them to the growing pile

Arthur's back arched as Francis grazed his teeth over his chest, biting down harshly on his nipple. He tangled his fingers into the man's shoulder-length hair, chewing at his lip to hold in a cry as long fingers forced into his entrance. "You don't have to be so rough . . ." He whimpered as Francis stretched him.

The older man blinked, leaning up to catch his lips in a kiss again, "Forgive me, cheri," he whispered softly, "I . . . I'm just already starting to regret what I'm going to do."

Arthur sat up a bit, wincing as Francis didn't stop his movements, "You don't want to?"

"I never said that, angleterre," Francis murmured. "I just . . . Told myself not to let it come to this." He pushed Arthur back down onto the bed, levering his legs up onto his shoulders. "So, forgive me if I hate myself for it, come tomorrow."

The younger blond slid his arms underneath Francis's, his nails marking the other's back as the older man pushed inside. His breathing hitched as the other pulled out and thrust back in, and he buried his face against Francis's shoulder with a muffled whimper. Francis waited a moment before repeating the movement, his arms shifting around Arthur's back and pulling him closer. He kissed the exposed neck of the other as he pressed in again, smirking at the strangled moan that Arthur let out against his shoulder. Lowering his hand, he curled his fingers around Arthur's member, stroking in time with his thrusts. Shifting slightly, he managed to collide with a spot that made Arthur cry out, arching up against him.

Francis sucked in a shaky breath as Arthur came, clenching around him. He leaned down, drawing a finger across the seed that had pooled between them, licking it up. Pressing back inside again, he released and watched as Arthur squirmed underneath him. He twined their fingers together as he pulled out, refusing to let go of the other as Arthur closed his eyes and tried to regain a normal rate of breathing.

Arthur felt his eyes already flickering closed within a few seconds, the day's activities coming back to him. He rolled over until he lay in the crook of Francis's arm, his heart rate significantly lower than it had been moments before. "Sorry," he whispered.

"For what, mon Arthur," Francis asked, his gaze trained pointedly at the ceiling.

"I asked you to . . . And you said you'd regret it," the younger man replied drowsily.

Francis didn't answer the unspoken question in the statement, listening to Arthur's soft breathing fade into the sounds of sleep. And still he let his mind wander.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

_His hands were small, but his grip was just as strong as Francis's was. Arthur laughed, the innocent laugh of the child he was when Francis would ruffle his hair. They were four years apart, but that was something that mattered little to children._

_Francis was ten the summer he stayed at Antonio's home in England. Feliciano and Lovino came with him and their mother, only just six years old. The same age as the small boy who lived down the street. The one with the golden hair, emerald eyes, and the dark eyebrows. He came over to play with them almost everyday, his parents apparently friends with Antonio's mother. _

_The older blond was content to simply watch the other play with his brothers, admiring him from a distance. At least, until the boy got annoyed with the blue eyed gaze always boring into his back. _

"_Why do you stare at me all the time," he asked, small hands clenching into the taller boy's shirt, pulling him down until they were eye level._

"_Because, I find you amusing, Arthur," Francis replied. _

_Arthur raised a characteristic eyebrow, "What does amoosin mean?"_

"_Amusing," Francis corrected with a chuckle, "it means I find you funny."_

"_Is it my eyebrows?" Arthur asked, looking put out. "Cause everyone makes fun of my eyebrows . . . Even Antonio, but mum told him to stop."_

"_I very much like your eyebrows, Arthur," Francis replied sincerely. _

_The boy's emerald eyes lit up, "Really? You're not lying?"_

"_Of course not," Francis smiled, "I promise to never lie to you, cheri."_

_This comment received another incredulous look from the younger child, "I'm not a cherry."_

_Francis laughed, "Non, I mean, no, that's not what I said. I said 'cheri,' it's a word in my language."_

"_What does it mean?"_

"_I'll tell you when you're older," Francis smirked, ruffling the other's hair fondly._

_The hot summer days were spent as such. Playing in the shade of the garden, or wandering out into the woods behind the house, lying next to the river. It was by this river that Francis heard Arthur sing for the first time._

"_I can finally see it, now I have to believe,_

_All those precious stories._

_All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust."_

"_You sing beautifully, cheri," Francis murmured, kissing the child's forehead. "Where did you hear that song?"_

"_I wrote it," Arthur said proudly, smiling at the innocent touch of the lips on his forehead. "I want to sing someday, like the people on the radio, and on mum's CD's."_

_Francis smiled back, "That's a wonderful dream, cheri. I hope to hear you sing on stage someday then."_

"_You'll come to my concerts?" Arthur asked, eyes sparkling._

"_Of course."_

_They were told not to play in the river, that the summer rains in England made the current to fast. But being children, they didn't listen. It was Antonio who suggested they swim in it, the last day before Francis had to leave. And the younger brother hadn't protested. The water seemed to be moving slowly that day; he saw no danger in the act. Feliciano and Lovino waded in up to their chests, having no problem with the undercurrent being used to swimming in the ocean near their hometown. And being the tallest, Antonio was able to practically walk the entire width of the river without having to swim at all. And it was the eldest's overconfidence that had taken things a step to far._

_Antonio was annoyed at the fact that Arthur was taking up all of Francis's time, his brother sitting with the younger boy in the shallows, Arthur apparently hesitant to go in much deeper. He had grabbed the six year old, physically tossing him into the center of the water, not thinking anything of it until the child failed to come back up._

_Francis had dived in after him, fighting the current as he fought to reach Arthur, who was rapidly being sucked under and away. He caught hold of him a quarter mile down the river, breathing into him desperately as he dragged him ashore. And after a long moment of silence, in which Francis had contemplated drowning himself for being to late, Arthur had choked and gagged up a mouthful of water, chest heaving, before he lost consciousness again. _

_He'd heard from Antonio, the day after he'd left, that when Arthur woke up, he'd apparently lost all memory of the entire summer, the incident at the river being so dramatic that he purposefully blocked it from his mind. Francis didn't bother to go back any of the summers after that. And when his mother took Feliciano and Lovino with her when she moved there permanently, Francis went to America._

_Maybe it was because he somehow blamed himself. Maybe it was because he didn't want Arthur to remember at all. But he never went back. Instead, he decided that he would make a name for himself, become someone that the other could be proud of, to make up for the day he had nearly failed to reach Arthur in time. But he set one boundary for himself. One, very clear boundary. _

_He was not to fall for him. It would ruin Arthur's music, change to purity in his song. No, even if they somehow, by some strange occurrence, met again, he would not let it come to that._

Except that he had.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

_Arthur was dreaming again. He smiled at the continued whispers against his ear. Leaning into the others touch. The person drew back a few steps, holding out a closed hand toward Arthur. To which, Arthur extended an open palm, and watched as two glowing balls of light fell from the other's grasp and into his own. But the light slipped between his fingers, rolling down his chest and to an area slightly below his navel, disappearing entirely at this point._

_He reached down, touching his stomach in confusion, searching for the light that had been there moments before. The other's arms pulled him close again, and he forgot momentarily about the twin lights, burying his face into broad shoulders. There was an unrecognizable warmth where the glowing lights had disappeared, but he thought nothing of it, content to lie in strong arms as he listened to the sound of the river stretching out behind them. _

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

Late again, gomen. But I have finals right now. And my MP3 got eaten by the computer, making me lose all my music, videos, and doujinshi. So that was lovely. And I got spazzed out or something again and decided to start ANOTHER new story. *is apparently on crack* so I'll put the description of that here in a sec.

Anywho . . . Hard chapter to write. With an obvious dream interpretation there at the end. :] but Arthur has a lot of backlash in store for him before the meaning becomes obvious to _him_. He's thickheaded. Definitely. Oh, and on my search to recover all my doujinshi, I realized that it's been literally, six or so months since I raided any of the well known stashes. So basically, I got about ten-twelve France/England doujinshi now. Some in English. :D :D

Finally, check out my new story please! Here's the description (Oh, and so far, we have Francis/Arthur smut in it. :] )

**One Last Fairytale**

AU

Alfred is the youngest prince of his country, the only biological child of King Arthur and King Francis. But no matter how much he wishes it was true, he knows deep down that there's no such thing as the "Happily Ever After" in fairytales. Eleven years ago from his eighteenth birthday, a tragedy occurred in the palace, one that no one dares speak of. At the age of seven, the prince had already given up on living, until his older "brother" Ivan convinced him that somehow, every story truly will end like in the fairytales, never mentioning that his heart was just as broken as Alfred's. And now, on the blonde's eighteenth birthday, his parents insist on holding a Masquerade to find him a suitable princess or prince to rule at his side when the throne becomes his. Alfred wants nothing to do with it.

Kiku, an orphaned teen whose older brother perished in the tragedy eleven years ago, has watched the prince from afar for years. And he was content in doing so until his new "family" insists he take their invitation that is meant for the eldest child of their blood. He wants to take the chance, even though he knows that real life is nothing like a storybook, and that his one wish is completely futile. A prince will never notice a commoner.

But when Kiku arrives at the Masquerade, overly protective Ivan recognizes him right away, the brother of the servant who was once his entire world. He's not about to let Alfred go through the same pain he himself did, and will do anything to stop it, even while being pestered by another guest, the heir to the Western kingdom, the crimson eyed prince.

Can life truly end in a Happily Ever After after all?

Pairings: Francis/Arthur, Alfred/Kiku, Ivan/Yao, Ivan/Gilbert.

And then all the usual back burner guys too, including Ludwig/Feliciano (what's a Hetalia fic without them?), Antonio/Lovino, Roderich/Elizaveta, and slight hints of Alfred/Mathew, Alfred/Natalia, and Ivan/Alfred

I HOPE YOU'LL TAKE A LOOK AT IT!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes Of A Love Song: Broken Strings**

_Immense forewarning here. This is not a happy-happy-sugar-coated-fairies-and-gay chapter. If you have problems with things like unconditional sex (AKA, rape), please carry on like this one never happened. Though it is a huge point in the plot._

When Arthur awoke the next morning, Francis was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall with a strange look on his face. The younger blond groaned and rolled over onto his back, covering his eyes with his hands as the night before came rushing back to him. He was ashamed of himself for asking for something like that. Gods, he felt like a slut, and no doubt Francis saw him as one now. He sighed and sat up, hands resting on his knees as he contemplated the man before him.

Truthfully, he hadn't been lying when he'd told Francis that he was curious. He was intrigued by the other, interested, and more than just sexually. There was something familiar about the Frenchman that Arthur just couldn't place. But it was a comforting familiarity, one that he had no trouble accepting. He leaned forward, blankets tangling around his waist as he wrapped his arms around Francis from behind. More than anything, he was scared of what the other had said the night before.

"_I'm just already starting to regret what I'm going to do."_

"So . . . Do you regret it?" Arthur asked quietly, tightening his grip on the other man.

Francis blinked, looking down and letting his hands rest over the ones that were splayed out over his chest, "Cheri . . . I . . ."

Arthur felt a flare of panic in his chest at the hesitation, "Look, it's a week until I have to leave to tour with Warsaw, right? So can't you just give me a chance until then? One week, that's all I ask."

"Cheri, there's more to it than that-"

"Just one week. I promise you can get rid of me after that if that's what you really want," Arthur whispered, "And until then, you can do whatever you like with me."

The older blond turned to stare blankly at him, "It's dangerous to say something like that, cheri," he murmured. "What I did last night and what I held back from doing are two entirely different matters."

"I just . . ." Arthur hesitated, at a loss for what to say, "I just want to mean something to you . . ."

_You mean more to me than you will ever know, cheri,_ Francis thought, turning away again. "Fine," he said quietly, "One week, no more. And afterwards, you will have no right to complain should I choose to end this charade." He shrugged and turned to flick some of the hair out of Arthur's eyes, "Now, go take a shower, mon Arthur."

Arthur arched a hand behind his back, touching the swollen area above his rear with a hissing intake of breath. It hurt a bit to stand, and he chewed his lip slightly as he began to rinse out his hair under the warm water. He couldn't understand why Francis was regretting the night before, if anyone was to regret anything, it should have been him. But he couldn't bring himself to feel like that. He leaned against the tiles on the shower wall, closing his eyes and listening to the sound of the water cascading down to pool on the shower floor. Almost like rain. Rain, water, the river, the blue of Francis's eyes, they somehow all connected, and he wanted to know why.

He jumped as the glass shower door slid open, and turned to see Francis himself slip in beside him, closing the steam covered door once more. He gazed at Arthur with glazed eyes for a moment, as if thinking about something, before reaching out and catching his shoulder, tugging him close beneath the spray. Arthur's heart rate sped up, and he stared up at the older man with mounting excitement, "So, are you going to show me what it was that you were holding back then?" he teased.

Francis turned him again and lowered his hands to the other's waist, "Hands on the wall," he ordered.

The younger glanced over his shoulder at him, characteristic eyebrows raised as he complied, "What are you-"

"Quiet," Francis hissed between his teeth.

Arthur flinched at the tone, noticing something flicker through Francis's eyes that had not been there the night before, "Franci-"

"Don't talk," the other snapped, tightening his grip on Arthur's hips, "I'm going to show you exactly-" Francis pulled the smaller man back against him harshly, "-Why you shouldn't be with me!"

Panic flared up in Arthur's chest and he began to struggle, "Francis, stop!" He screamed as the older man suddenly forced himself inside, his eyes closing with the pain. The blond whimpered and bit his lip, drawing blood that trickled down his chin to fall into the water that he realized with a start, was already turning pink as it swirled down the drain. "Oh . . . Oh god," he gasped, tears forming in the corners of his eyes to stream steadily down his cheeks.

Francis pushed Arthur up against the wall, one hand reaching up to twist the showerhead around so that it still poured down on them, washing away the blood that dripped down between them. "You don't want this," he growled softly, "I'm not the person you think I am, Arthur."

"Franci-"

"Shut up!" Francis yelled fiercely, pulling back and thrusting back into him, making the smaller man cry out, "I'm cruel, Arthur! And I'm not going to standby and _fail_ you again!" He repeated the movement, Arthur gasping with pain beneath him, "I tried so hard not to let it come to this and you forced me to it!" Leaning down, he bit at the other's shoulder, causing him to sob and writhe as Francis kept a firm hold on his waist, "You don't need people like me in your life, cheri!"

Arthur's eyes snapped open, his fingers clenching against the tiles of the shower wall. His heart hammered with fear, and his breathing had become hitched and ragged, but he summoned up whatever courage he had left, "That's not for you to decide!"

"Yes it is!" Francis ground into him again, satisfied as Arthur's back arched as he screamed again, "It's my responsibility to protect you! Even if that means protecting you from myself!" He groaned and thrust blindly into the younger man again, reaching around with a hand to grasp Arthur's length, "So I'll teach you not to come near me. Even if it means that you will never so much as show your face in my presence again," the older blond began to pump his fist over Arthur's member in time with his unforgiving movements.

The Englishman sobbed, his fingernails digging into his palms as he came harshly under the steady spray of the shower. His knees shook and he would have fallen if Francis hadn't held him steady. He gasped as the other man spilled over inside of him, riding his orgasm out with a strangled moan. Arthur whimpered again as the larger man pulled out of him, sinking down onto his knees in the water that still swirled with pink streaks. He felt sick, and he stifled a gag at the sight.

Suddenly, the water was turned off and Francis had grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to his feet and shoving him outside of the shower. The blond stumbled and fell onto his back with a huff as the wind was knocked out of him, laying there stunned for a moment before he noticed Francis looming over him again. Arthur gasped and tried to scramble to his feet, making it as far as the door before Francis grabbed him again, slamming his back against the door and hauling his legs up onto the his shoulders. "Francis stop!" he screamed, voice breaking into another cry as the other penetrated him once more.

Arthur steadily lost count of how many times he screamed those two words, pleading and crying for the Francis to stop. But the frustration and fury in the other man's eyes barely even dimmed as he took the younger again and again. Against the door, twice on the floor of the bedroom, against the wall, and over the desk. It was only after Arthur's voice had vanished and his tears had run dry that Francis finally pulled away. The thick browed blond felt faint surprise as the older man lifted him up into his arms bridal style and carried him gently over to the bed.

He barely registered anything as Francis tugged a t-shirt over his head and laid a layer of towels on the sheets, placing Arthur on top of them and beginning to carefully clean him. Emerald eyes stared sightlessly up at the ceiling as Francis wadded up one of the towels with a slight frown at the blood on it before walking away into the bathroom. He emerged a few minutes later with a basin of cool water and a washrag, which he soaked and rang out, placing it on Arthur's forehead as he pulled the blankets up over him.

"It's better this way, mon cheri," Francis murmured, running fingers absently through the other's hair and smiling sadly at the noticeable flinch that resulted, "One day . . . I hope you'll understand that." He stood again and left silently, closing the bedroom door behind him and locking it.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

Arthur grew oblivious to the passing of days. Francis went in and out of the room at frequent intervals, changing the water in the basin and the washcloth on his head. He brought Arthur water and Ibuprofen, making sure he took both before he left again. After what must have been close to a day he approached with some applesauce and fed it to him when Arthur refused to sit up. How long this cycle continued, Arthur couldn't be sure. Soup, milk, water, and Jell-O all passed his lips without a word between them. Every once in awhile, Francis would remove the washcloth and place a hand over his forehead, which made Arthur realize that he was running a steady fever. A relieved look had crossed the older man's face when the fever had broken, but otherwise his face remained expressionless for the most part.

The curtains were drawn back after Arthur awoke the final time to reveal blazing sunlight. Francis leaned on the windowsill with a carefully placed look of disinterest on his face, "You leave tomorrow, Arthur. Your band mates are becoming worried about you. It would be best if you spent the night in your own room this evening."

The younger man rolled over so that his back was to the other and ignored the remark, closing his eyes again. Francis's hand was suddenly on his shoulder, and he flinched away from him and sitting up with a snarl. "Don't touch me," he muttered, eyes narrowed.

Francis merely smiled, "Everyone is out right now, so you can return to your room without them noticing," he informed, "And Gilbert and Feliks went out and bought you a new wardrobe I had them lay on your bed for you to take on the tour. You would do well to pack them tonight." He went to the door and held it open.

Arthur rose to his feet and sighed as he noticed that his back no longer throbbed with pain before he strode past the taller man and out the door without so much as a glance over his shoulder. He rode the elevator down and made his way to the room he had yet to use and collapsed onto his bed, arms crossing over his face as the tears welled in his eyes again for the first time since the incident. Silent sobs racked his body until a soft knock came against his door. He didn't answer, but tried to stifle the cry that welled up in his throat instead.

Feliciano's eyes widened as he pushed the door open anyways, catching sight of the older man on the bed. He closed and locked the door behind him before running to his side, "Arthur! Arthur, what's wrong?"

The blond shook his head and sat up, flinging his arms around Feliciano's neck as the other climbed up onto the bed beside him. The Italian started and held Arthur steady, rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades comfortingly. "I was an idiot," Arthur whispered hoarsely, "I was a fool, Feliciano!"

"Arthur-"

"I don't ever want to see him again!" Arthur screamed, hugging the other's shoulders tightly, "How could he do this to me?!" He sobbed and choked on his tears, "What he did . . . It's something that can never be fixed, or healed! There's this pain inside of my heart that can _never _go away and I . . ." The blond gasped and coughed, "I can't forgive him for that!"

"Big brother didn't . . ." Feliciano whispered in horror, wrapping his arms around his bandmate, "Arthur . . ."

Arthur didn't reply, screaming in frustration and anguish into the folds of Feliciano's shirt.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

"Ludwig?" Feliciano said quietly as he slipped back into their room, "I'm going to stay with Arthur tonight, ve?" The German's head turned from where he'd been placing a sleeping Kiku in his crib with a frown, "What happened?" The auburn haired man shook his head wordlessly, "I . . . I can't tell you. It's too . . . Awful."

The blond narrowed his eyes, taking a few paces to close the distance between them and placing a hand on Feliciano's head. "I can't fix it if I don't know how to," he murmured softly.

"It's not something that can be fixed," Feliciano whispered, shaking his head again. He turned watering eyes to the taller man with a held back whimper, "Ludwig . . . He . . . He hurt Arthur, so badly! I don't know what to do and I-"

"Feliciano, how did he hurt him?" Ludwig asked, worry clouding his eyes.

"He-"

Feliciano stood beside the couch as he watched the scene out on the balcony with half lidded eyes. The sliding glass door had been pulled closed, so he could not hear the words that were yelled. But the body language and the utter fury on Ludwig's face was clear enough. Francis did not raise a hand as he was grabbed by the collar of his shirt and punched square in the face, blood staining the taller man's knuckles crimson. The door slid open again and Ludwig came back inside, slamming it shut hard enough to crack the glass as he left Francis behind, kneeling on the balcony with his hands to his nose, blood trickling out between his fingers.

The Italian grabbed Ludwig's arm as he passed, clinging to him and making a soothing humming noise in the back of his throat. The blond growled and tried to shake him off briefly before relenting and sinking down onto the sofa, pulling the younger man close. "Go to Arthur now," he murmured, "I'm going to have to drive that bastard to the hospital to get his nose taken care of." He snorted at the thought, "I hope it's broken."

The smaller man looked worried, "Don't wish such things on people, Ludwig."

"But he-"

Feliciano smiled slightly, "He's my brother, Ludwig. No matter what he may do, and what pain he causes, that will always be so." He shook his head, "There are some things that Arthur cannot understand about him, and I think that that's what hurt him the most. Whatever happened, Francis did for a reason."

"That doesn't mean he's not a bastard," Ludwig muttered sourly.

"I know," Feliciano smiled. He stood up and wandered towards the elevator, pressing the button to take him to the next floor down. "But don't take it out on him. There are two sides to every tale, Ludwig."

Arthur was in the exact same place Feliciano had left him, facedown on his bed with his head in his arms. The Italian busied himself packing the bags of new clothes into a suitcase with some basic necessities before he crawled over to lie beside the other. Arthur rolled over and wrapped his arms around him without a word, thick eyebrows furrowing together in a way that threatened the approach of another round of tears. Feliciano ran a hand through his friend's hair and hummed again, gently, reassuringly. "I cannot help you heal, ve . . . But I think that one day soon, it'll get better. That's . . . all I can really do for you," he whispered.

The blond choked and shook his head, "I wish that were true.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

Arthur Kirkland had shooed Feliciano away when the sun rose, smiling and telling him that he was feeling much better. He knew that the Italian was not oblivious to his blatant lie, but he was grateful that the other acted as if he was. The blond took the time to finish packing, as Feliciano's quick job of it the night before was rather hasty and messy. He relaxed in the bath for an hour, keeping his eyes closed and avoiding a shower for reasons he didn't want to think about. He had a room service order of eggs, bacon, and good old fashioned English tea brought up before he worked on some early morning stretches and vocal exercises. It had been over a week since he'd sang anything, and he felt a little nervous that he would no longer be able to. But he was pleased to find that everything appeared to be in general working order.

The first few notes were a bit rough, but he persevered, singing whatever popped into his head until the words began to sound right.

"Let me hold you

For the last time

It's the last chance to feel again.

But you broke me

Now I can't feel anything." He paused as there was a knock on the door, thinking it was Italy again. "Come in," he called, tossing a brush he had just used into the suitcase as a last minute addition. Arthur started violently as Francis came in, leaving the door open a crack so that the other could clearly see Feliciano behind him in the hall. "G-get out," he stuttered, stumbling back against the wall.

Francis smiled, raising a hand to touch the brace and bandages across his nose, "Your friends gave me quite a talking to, you know. And I deserved it." He hesitated, "But I do not regret my actions, Arthur. It was necessary. And though you may never see it that way, I could not risk it ending any other way. I should have never allowed it to start in the first place even." He smiled again, "That's all I wanted to say. I'll take my leave now."

Arthur watched him go with narrowed eyes before he grabbed his suitcase from the floor and made his way to the elevator, Feliciano following close behind. A bus was waiting for them down in the parking lot, the word _Warsaw_ painted on its side with in bright red letters. Feliks was hanging out of the window and waving at them, Gilbert close beside. Roderich, Antonio, Elizaveta, and Lovino came out a few minutes later, Antonio helping to heave everyone's bags into the storage area on the sides of the bus. Ludwig came out soon after, looking rather comical with Kiku in a baby-backpack on his chest, giggling as his adopted father walked. Ivan was the last out, and Feliks shot a glare at him as he climbed onto the bus behind Gilbert. But he was the guard assigned to _Rotating Earth_, not _Warsaw_, so he couldn't complain unless he wanted to lose his contract with Francis.

Arthur took a seat near the front of the bus, starting up a conversation with the young man with shoulder-length auburn hair there, who he quickly found out used to live in his neighborhood up until a few years ago. "Toris, correct?" he asked, intrigued, "I don't think I ever saw you around town."

Toris laughed lightly, "No, I went to a private school in London, and was only home during the summers." He waved a hand absentmindedly, "I was the one who got Feliks signed up with Francis because I lived there, though. We've known each other for; let's see . . . Sixteen years now, I think?"

The blond blinked in surprise, "Huh? Francis didn't live anywhere near there." The older man tilted his head to the side, "But his aunt did, right? Or something like that. He stayed the summer once, I think. He was always playing with this little boy who had this beautiful voice and-"

Arthur's hands rose to his ears, as if blocking out some noise no one else could hear, his emerald eyes widening.

"_Because, I find you amusing, Arthur." _

"_You sing beautifully, cheri."_

"_That's a wonderful dream, cheri. I hope to hear you sing on stage someday then."_

A rush of water and his mind went blank.

"_And I'm not going to standby and _fail _you again!"_

The blond gasped and stood up, feeling the bus beginning to move. He dashed towards the back, scrambling over seats and bags over Feliciano's startled call and Toris's worried questions. His fists hit the large back window and he looked out it desperately, catching sight of Francis on the front steps of the hotel, watching the bus pull out. "Francis!" he called, pounding against the glass, knowing the other couldn't hear him.

There was something he was missing, something he had forgotten that he should have remembered, though he didn't know what it was. He turned towards the front of the bus again, "Stop the bus!"

Ludwig stood up and grabbed his arm, pushing Arthur into another seat with a growl, "Don't stop the bus," he called to the driver. His eyes narrowed at the Englishman, "You have no reason to speak to that bastard, Arthur. Leave it be."

"But-"

"Leave it! Think things over and don't be rash! If you still feel like you need a heart to heart with him, god knows why, call him when we get to Washington. But not until then."

Arthur sunk down in his seat, "All right . . ." But his hand was already fiddling with his cell phone inside his pocket.

RANDOM AUHOR RAMBLE

The story is not dead! D: I just had major writers block on it for like, 3 months. :p the first scene was really hard, that's my only excuse.

Anywho . . . More importantly, are you all watching American Idol!?!?! I hate that damn show, except for the tryouts where I laugh at the flunkies. :] but this time, in the finals, there's that guy who looks EXACTLY like FRANCE! He has curly shoulder-length blond hair and the darker stubble and everything! I have never said this about anyone before in my entire life, actors or anything, but I want to marry that guy and have his France-san babies. Seriously. I hope he wins. :D

More epic developments next chapter, that will hopefully be much lighter than this one. Though Arthur still has a long way to go before things fall into place for him.

Oh, and the song was Broken Strings, Arthur sang a part of it as he was packing.


End file.
